The Mycroft and Mary Connection Exposed
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: Mycroft has a long-kept secret, a much closer association with Mary than anyone knew. When Sherlock and Molly start putting the pieces together, Sherlock decides it's time to confront his brother and get the whole story. (Part of my Journey series, see a/n or my profile for when in the timeline it occurs). Canon-compliant backstory. Parentlock. Sherlolly.
1. A Secret Connection

**Author's note: **This story begins before the events of my story, _A Holmes Family Christmas in Sussex, _and concludes soon after _A New Year's Eve Party for Two._

Even if you have not read those stories, I hope you can enjoy this as a stand-alone one with my theory on the history of Mycroft and Mary.

* * *

**Late October 2018**

Mycroft was feeling rather pleased with himself. For months he had been negotiating with the UBS, a prominent Swiss Bank, to see that the funds of a certain former assassin were made available to her surviving husband and daughter.

Here, finally, was the letter that informed Mycroft that his efforts had been successful and that all that remained was for the surviving spouse, a man in the name of John Watson, to provide his signature on certain documents and to show other means of identification to have the funds released to him.

Soon, Mycroft would inform John of his new financial status and tell him truthfully that this was done to repay a debt. Shortly before Sherlock had married Dr. Molly Hooper, at his stag night in fact, information had come to light that John had been the one responsible for fatally shooting the cabbie who had tempted Sherlock with taking a poisonous pill. John had barely known Sherlock at the time, yet he had undoubtedly saved Sherlock's life by his actions, just because Sherlock was bored and could not resist a challenge, even one that could lead to his own death. John had made a significant contribution to positive changes in Sherlock over the years, even as Molly had also done.

But there was another secret reason for Mycroft to have gone to the trouble of securing John's financial future with the funds Mary had earned as a member of a top, freelance team of assassins known as A.G.R.A. who had been used on several occasions by the British Government under Mycroft's directions. Simply put, he owed it to Mary.

Very few people were aware of the long-standing association between Mycroft and Mary. Anthea, his loyal personal assistant, was probably the only one who knew the full extent of it, and he had no intention of revealing it unless it became necessary. Mycroft's wife of two months, Elizabeth, was also aware that he had known Mary as a member of A.G.R.A., but even she was not privy to the fact that he had had an active involvement with her after the events of Tbilisi. There was always the possibility that Sherlock might at some point ask questions, but he had been rather occupied with his wife and now his young daughter, Victoria, for well over a year now. Sherlock too was aware of Mycroft's association with A.G.R.A. In fact, he had known it since before Mary's death, but everything that had occurred since then had obviously served to drive that information out of his mind or at least relegate it to back-burner status, so perhaps the topic of Mary would not come up again. If it did, however, Mycroft was prepared to tell his brother the truth.

Mycroft leaned back in the chair of his office, folded his arms and closed his eyes, recalling a certain rather desperate phone call that had occurred almost eight years earlier, just after things in Tbilisi had taken an unexpected and deadly turn.

* * *

"_Mr. Holmes, I have Gypsy on the line for you," Anthea's voice informed him, when he picked up the telephone in his office to answer her call._

_Mycroft's eyes widened. Gypsy was the codename for Rosamund, the only female member of the A.G.R.A. team. Two days earlier, he had assumed the entire team had been killed or otherwise detained by the terrorists when they had somehow been betrayed and the plan to rescue the hostages had failed. The resulting loss of life to all the hostages had been catastrophic, and Mycroft was still trying to field questions on what had happened, questions for which he could find no answers._

"_Put her through," he said crisply into the receiver._

"_Please, Mr. Holmes, you have to help me," came the woman's desperate voice a few moments later. "I'm the only one left. I managed to escape and I don't know what to do now."_

_He could hear her natural Scottish brogue coming into her speech. That was something Rosamund had perfected over the years, an impeccable British accent, and to hear her true accent manifesting itself meant she was indeed under great stress. "Calm down, Gypsy," (he was careful to use only her code name, one could never be sure who might be listening), "Obviously you know things cannot return to the way they were in light of what has happened. I will make arrangements and furnish you with the details on how to obtain the documentation necessary to fly to London. After your debriefing here, I shall meet with you and we can discuss your future options."_

_He heard the deep sigh of relief from her end. "Thank you so much. I just didn't know where else to turn."_

"_Tell me how I may contact you, and as soon as I have arranged things, I shall be in touch."_

_Once she informed him of where she could be reached and disconnected the call, he immediately set to work, procuring passage for her to London and arranging for a false passport to be delivered to her temporary address using one of his government contacts in Tbilisi who could be trusted._

_Several days later, Mycroft met with the former assassin. There was no question of her ever returning to her previous profession at this point. Because of the devastating results from the botched Tblilisi extraction, he had already decided that freelance operatives would no longer be used for government endorsed extractions or other such sensitive matters. This meant that Rosamund would require a new identity._

_Mycroft procured a new identity for the woman, and she became Mary Morstan, who had been still born in October1972. This date was actually very close to the real birth date of Rosamund, which was rather fortuitous. Documents were prepared, a new birth certificate listing deceased parents, and other legal forms that created a new persona for the former assassin._

_Before becoming an operative, Rosamund had trained first to be a nurse, and Mycroft was able to find her new employment in that field. He allowed her to live her new life without interference until after Sherlock had been forced to fake his death and leave London thanks to James Moriarty._

_Two months after Sherlock's supposed death, Mycroft decided it was time to solicit the services of Mary Morstan once again, this time on a personal matter._

_Mycroft felt an obligation to look after John, Sherlock's best friend, who believed Sherlock to be dead. He had quietly monitored John who was not doing well, according to his therapist, Ella. Ella happened to be a close family friend of Mycroft's parents. Although she obviously could disclose nothing about her sessions with John, discreet enquiries showed that John was not coping well. Sherlock had, after all, been John's only close friend. _

_John had been a good influence on Sherlock over the past two years, and Mycroft felt he should do something more for the former army doctor, so he came up with a rather clever idea._

_Mycroft knew that Mary was living a relatively peaceful life in obscurity, with no funds from her former profession being available because of her identity change. He placed a call._

"_How would you like a job, a better-paying one?" he enquired of her when she answered the telephone._

"_I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes. I'm happy with my life as it is and I don't want to go back to my former profession," she replied apologetically._

"_Ah, Miss Morstan, you misunderstand me. This would be a different job, a personal favour for me, as it were, and I would be the one paying you. I would purchase you a flat and your own car if that would provide you with further incentive to accept this offer."_

"_What kind of offer?" She sounded intrigued._

"_There is a vacancy at a certain clinic in London, and I would like you to fill the position of receptionist. I would also like you to keep an eye on a man named John Watson, perhaps befriend him."_

"_I will not be a spy for you, Mr. Holmes," she said crisply, and he heard a note of steel in her voice which pleased him. He had always liked the fact that this woman had a spine._

"_Forgive me if I gave you the wrong impression. I do not wish you to spy on him, I wish you merely to look out for him, take care of him. He needs a friend."_

_Her voice sounded rather suspicious. "Why?"_

"_I assume you have seen the reports a couple months ago about the suicide of my brother, Sherlock?" _

"_I don't really follow the news these days, but I did hear about that from one of my colleagues. A detective, wasn't he? There was quite a lot of debate at work over whether he was a fraud or not. He was your brother?" _

"_Yes." Mycroft's voice was curt._

"_I'm sorry for your loss," she responded sympathetically, but Mycroft brushed off the condolences. After all, he knew Sherlock was not really dead. _

"_Yes, yes, thank you. John Watson was my brother's best friend, his only close friend really. I feel a certain sense of responsibility for the man who helped my brother over the past two years to become a better man himself." He supposed Mary would consider him rather cold-hearted to have been so casually dismissive regarding his brother's death, but he didn't have time to show false sentiment. _

"_And if I refuse your request?" Her voice was cautious._

"_That is of course your prerogative," he answered. "However, I think my terms are quite generous. I should like you to remain employed at the clinic at least for one year so I can ascertain that John Watson is successfully moving on with his life. If you can be on friendly terms with him, help him to recover from his grief, I should be most grateful. As I said, I am willing to purchase a flat for you and your own vehicle as well if you agree to my terms. So, what do you say, Miss Morstan? Do we have a deal?"_

_He waited for her answer patiently, confident that she was an intelligent woman who would decide in his favour. Surprisingly, though, she did not say yes. Instead she asked, "Do you have a photo of him that I can see? Information about him?"_

_He smiled. Once again he was reminded that this was no average woman. Of course she would want to know what she was getting in to before she made a commitment. "Come to my office to see me tomorrow at two o'clock, and I will furnish you with all the information you could wish to have on John Watson."_

_He provided her with the address and instructions to present herself at the SIS building and ask for Anthea. His personal assistant would come to escort her personally to Mycroft's underground office._

_The following day, Mary arrived on schedule, and Mycroft gave her the promised information on Dr. John Watson, from his history in the army and discharge after being wounded to his association with a certain consulting detective named Sherlock Holmes._

_Mary looked at the picture Mycroft had provided along with the information. "He looks and sounds like a good man," she remarked, tracing her finger lightly over the photograph._

_Mycroft's lips twisted slightly. "Most assuredly he is. On the day we met, I attempted to offer him compensation in return for keeping an eye on my brother and reporting back to me. He didn't even know my brother yet and still refused."_

_Mary lifted her eyes from where she had been studying the photograph closely and gave a short laugh. "And now you are basically asking me to do the same thing to him?"_

"_Dr. Watson was not aware I was trying to look out for my brother. I admit I did not really approach him as someone who had my brother's best interests at heart. In fact, I may have inferred that we were arch enemies rather than reveal we were brothers."_

_Mary gave him an amused look. "Why am I not surprised to hear that, Mr. Holmes?"_

_Mycroft folded his arms in front of his chest and watched as Mary looked through the file properly._

_Finally she looked up. "He seems to have had a rather rough time of it, hasn't he? First getting severely injured in Afghanistan and invalided home, hardly any family to speak of with a sister he barely spends time with and parents who died several years ago. Now he has lost his best friend. I think I'd like to get to know him."_

_Mycroft leaned forward slightly, trying to suppress a rather smug smile and only partially succeeding. "Does that mean you'll take the job?"_

"_Yes, Mr. Holmes, I'll take the job."_

_The arrangement worked well for quite some time. Mary would send regular reports to Mycroft about John's progress. She had befriended him and he had begun to open up to her about Sherlock. _

_A year passed, and Mary became less forthcoming on things. Mycroft suspected that her friendship with John had developed into something more._

_Then, shortly before Mycroft had to venture into the dangerous waters of Serbia in order to extract his brother from what had become a potentially deadly situation, Mary confessed that John was moving in with her. They had indeed developed a romantic attachment, and it was serious between them. It was actually rather a relief to Mycroft to be made aware of this. He no longer needed to feel responsible for John Watson's welfare._

_After Sherlock's successful return and the news of John and Mary's engagement, Mycroft was a little surprised to receive an invitation to their wedding. He suspected it was because Sherlock was acting as best man. He did not think Mary would have ever found it necessary to reveal that she had a previous association with him. Of course, not being someone who felt comfortable with sentiment, he had declined the invite, although he supposed it might have been interesting to see how well his brother handled the task of doing a best man speech._

* * *

Mycroft withdrew from his reflections and opened his eyes, uncrossed his arms and folded up the letter. He hoped that John would not ask any uncomfortable questions about why he had helped him when he went to give the man the news of his unexpected inheritance. With a bit of luck, his explanation about repaying a debt would be enough. John was not a suspicious man by nature, so he felt fairly certain all would be well. John certainly did not need to know the extent of Mycroft's true association with his late wife.

That association between Mycroft and Mary would probably have remained a secret if not for the fact that one of her fellow A.G.R.A. members had turned up alive and Sherlock had demanded his brother's assistance, at which time Mycroft had been forced to reveal he had indeed known Mary from her past life as an assassin. But Sherlock had not pressed him further, and he was still not aware of the fact that Mycroft had been the one to help Mary when she had tried to escape London because of Ajay's pursuit.

No indeed, that information would never come to light unless Sherlock started asking awkward questions. Once again, Mycroft found himself lost in his memories those more recent events that had begun with another frantic phone call from Mary, who had obviously committed his private number to memory.

* * *

"_I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Holmes, but it seems it's my turn to request your help again," came Mary's voice on the other end of the telephone._

_Mycroft frowned. "Why should you need my help again? You're happily married to John Watson and have a baby. Surely life has been kind to you?"_

_A deep sigh came from the other end. "Apparently my past is catching up to me. I had a very strange text from Sherlock a little while ago. He wishes to meet with me tonight and he asked me about A.G.R.A. I don't know why he's asking, and I'm worried. Will you help me get out of London for a while?"_

"_Don't you have an infant to care for?" he asked, a little surprised._

"_John can take care of her for now. I need to keep them safe. If there's a target on my back, I need to keep it away from my husband and daughter. Please, I'm begging you..."_

_Mycroft stroked his chin thoughtfully. "No need to beg. I shall help you, but I shall need time to procure false documents and a fake passport for you. If you would like to pretend to be American, I know someone who could have a special passport ready for you within days, then send it to a neutral location for you to pick up. We have special agents all over Europe, it is just a matter of where you would like me to send the passport once it is ready. Do you have a location in mind?"_

"_Not yet. Once I am out of the country, I will call you to let you know where I will be going."_

"_Very well. In the meantime I assume you still have the passport you used in order to leave Tbilisi, unless you destroyed it once you changed your identity?"_

"_I kept it - just in case," she responded._

Such a clever woman_, thought Mycroft approvingly. "Excellent.. At the very least you can use that to leave the country initially and I will wait on your call after that."_

"_Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Holmes. You're a lifesaver!" she exclaimed in a very relieved voice._

"_Quite possibly," responded Mycroft rather smugly._

_Once the conversation had ended, he set the wheels in motion. The following day her received a call from Mary to say she had decided on Norway as her next temporary destination. Two days after that a passport was waiting in a secret place in Norway for her to pick up. Her new name was Gabrielle Ashdown; place of birth, California USA._

_In the meantime, Sherlock had come by to ask him about A.G.R.A. and demand more information. Mary had been clever indeed to suspect that someone was after her. Of course, Mycroft pretended ignorance of the whole affair. _

_Later, Mycroft regretted that despite all he had done to help Mary, the end result had been her death. He recalled the words he had used in conversation with Sherlock when he had been asking questions about Mary and A.G.R.A. "But remember this, brother mine - agents like Mary tend not to reach retirement age. They get retired in a pretty permanent sort of way." For once, he was not happy to have been proven right._

* * *

Again, Mycroft snapped out of his reverie, this time as a knock sounded on the door.

Without waiting for a response, the door opened, and Mycroft knew who it was. Only his wife would presume to enter without invitation.

"Are you ready to go, dear?" she questioned. "We have dinner reservations at seven."

Mycroft shuffled the papers together on his desk. He would speak to John tomorrow. "I was just looking over some documents, but I'm ready to leave."

He stood and walked towards Elizabeth, then held out his arm to her. He might not be unduly sentimental, but he was a gentleman, after all.

She took his proffered arm, and they left the building together for their dinner date. Work was no longer always Mycroft's first concern as it had been in the past. He had definitely mellowed in that regard, and he knew it was in large part due to his brother and sister-in-law who had proved once and for all that caring was an advantage after all.

* * *

**Author's note:** I started thinking about writing this story in the middle of last year when I was wondering about the timing of Mary meeting John, and the way Mycroft was aware of Mary's background. I was also wondering how she was able to escape London during TST. She needed to have an ally, and I thought - who better than Mycroft?

Anyway, as I explained in my first a/n, I decided to time this story on either side of my _Another Holmes Family Christmas in Sussex _story_, _where I revealed that Mycroft was able to get Mary's money from her time as a freelance operative (another thing that was never addressed in the show which offered a rich opportunity for a story that would enable John to have a little more financial security). If you would like further context on that, please visit (or re-visit) that story.

For now, though, are you intrigued? Does this seem believable to you? Do you have your own head canon for Mary?

I've been really excited to publish this theory, so I hope to hear from lots of people with their own thoughts on the Mycroft and Mary connection! Has anyone else read any theories about this? I must confess, I don't read a lot as I am too busy writing, but I have never come across anyone trying to explain these interesting issues.


	2. Long Overdue Questions Explored

**Author's note:** As usual, my thanks to **Elizabeth Robello** for her title cover image. How many people are blessed enough to have someone who is willing to make these images exclusively for their stories?

* * *

**January 2019**

"I'm home!" sang out Sherlock as he entered the flat on Saturday, a few days into the new year. "I even brought dinner." He held up a bag containing Chinese take-away.

He was in a great mood. He and John had had a rather enjoyable day, successfully chasing down a thief who had broken into several houses in the same neighbourhood. It was like old times.

Molly looked up from the sofa where she was breastfeeding Victoria and smiled. "That was rather good timing. I was just trying to think of what to make for dinner. I already fed Victoria a pouch of baby food but she insisted on some milk from the milk machine as well, even though I had just breastfed her before I gave her the baby food."

Sherlock laughed at that. He set the bag down on the coffee table, then bent to kiss his daughter's head as she suckled at her mother's breast, followed by a more lingering kiss to his wife's mouth.

"I'm assuming the case went well?" questioned Molly once their lips had parted.

"A simple matter of deducing where the man would go to make his next move," responded Sherlock. "Greg was on standby with back-up, but John and I cornered him and er...convinced him to turn himself in without a fight. It seems so many people turn to crime to get money to fuel their drug habits. I felt a bit sorry for him, really, quite a young lad too. Hopefully, he will get clean in jail and turn his life around afterwards."

Molly sighed. "Yeah, well, at least by getting him sent to jail you are keeping him off the streets. One less potential body for me to have to do a post-mortem on." She winced suddenly and looked down at the baby. "Victoria, don't bite Mummy!"

"Teething again?" asked Sherlock, raising a brow. When Victoria had got her first tooth she had tested it out on Molly's nipples more than once.

Molly nodded. "I noticed this morning that her first top tooth has just peeked out from her gum and I think the next one won't be far behind. She's been so grizzly lately."

"I am aware," he responded dryly. "Keeps me up half the night with it."

Molly frowned at him. "Do you wish we had left the cot upstairs so you wouldn't have been disturbed during the night, and only I would have had to deal with it?"

"No, no," he assured her hastily. "I don't regret moving her cot into our bedroom, even if it does make it slightly crowded." He sat beside Molly and brushed her hair back from her face so he could plant a little kiss on her neck, and he felt her quiver slightly. "Anyway, I much prefer you bringing Victoria over to the bed to feed her, to leaving me alone at night while you go upstairs and sit in the rocking chair with her."

"Yeah, I must admit, it's much nicer not having to put on a dressing gown to go upstairs every time as well. It's a bit chilly up there." Molly lifted the baby up to her shoulder and patted her back. Victoria turned her head towards her daddy and gave a satisfying little burp, gazing at him with her bright blue eyes that matched his. He could never get over the beautiful combination of Molly and himself they had created together.

"Let me hold her for a bit. I haven't seen her all day," he said, reaching out his arms.

Molly quirked an eyebrow as she passed Victoria over to him. "Aren't we going to eat dinner?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Perhaps you could get the plates ready and put the take-away boxes on the table?"

Molly bent over and kissed Sherlock's cheek before getting up. "Of course. I don't begrudge you spending some quality time with Victoria. I've had her all to myself today anyway."

She took the bag of Chinese and headed into the kitchen while Sherlock spent a little time holding her and stroking his thumb along her cheek. Suddenly, she grinned at him, and it reminded him she had just cut a new tooth. He gently put his forefinger in her mouth, and she immediately closed it over his finger. He could feel those two bottom teeth making quite an indentation against his finger. Turning it, he felt her top gum. Sure enough, he could feel where the first top tooth had cut through, and her gum felt swollen on the other side, as if the next tooth was ready to erupt. Gently he rubbed along it and she made a soft cooing sound; undoubtedly his action soothed her sore gums.

"Food's on the table," called Molly, and he rose with Victoria, continuing to hold her on his lap as he ate. She watched with interest as he brought the food to his mouth. At one point he popped a couple grains of rice in her mouth. They were soft enough, he figured. If Molly noticed, she did not tell him off. Victoria experimented with the new texture, at least until her little tongue pushed it back out. Apparently she wasn't quite ready for it, he reflected.

After they had finished dinner, hearing a rumble followed by a noxious smell emanating from his daughter, Sherlock relinquished Victoria to Molly. He had fulfilled his New Year's Eve booby prize obligation of changing the next five dirty nappies and did not feel at all inclined to continue doing so unless absolutely necessary.

Molly rolled her eyes at him, but changed their daughter's nappy without protest. By that time, Victoria was looking very sleepy, and Molly settled her into her cot for an early night for once. Because of her teething woes, the baby had not had her usual afternoon nap, so it wasn't surprising she was tired earlier than usual.

Of course, Sherlock was not about to pass up the chance for some quality alone time with his wife.

As soon as Molly returned to the sitting room, Sherlock invited her to sit on his lap by patting his knees.

She obligingly did so, curling sideways and winding her arms about his neck. "Alone at last," Sherlock murmured, placing his own arms around her waist and kissing her.

After a few minutes of eminently satisfying kissing, they finally broke apart and Molly rested her head against Sherlock's racing heart. "So, how was it being out on a case with John again, knowing you will be able to work together whenever you want now that he's sold his share of the doctor's practice?" she questioned, linking their fingers.

"I must admit, it was more enjoyable than I had expected," responded Sherlock. "I guess I owe my brother a debt of thanks for making it possible."

Molly tilted her head upwards. "I was thinking, Mycroft really has been remarkably generous where John is concerned. He even took care of most of the arrangements for Mary's funeral when John was in such a bad state. I guess he must consider John part of the family."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Mycroft is not known for being philanthropic, but you are right, he has shown a remarkable amount of it with John. Perhaps it was because he knew John was good for me, helped me to improve myself. As for helping with funeral arrangements for Mary, perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he knew Mary during her years as an assassin."

Molly's lips curved into a smile. "What I find remarkable is how your brother knew Mary back then and never thought to tell you about it when you came back to London to find she and John were seeing one another. Extraordinary really."

And suddenly, a cog shifted in Sherlock's brain; long dormant wheels stirred into motion. "Oh, my God, Molly." His tone was hushed. "What if Mycroft somehow had a hand in bringing Mary and John together in the first place? I wouldn't put it past him. Great way to keep himself informed on what John was up to. He tried the same method when John and I met, to have John spy on _me_."

Molly's mouth opened in astonishment, and she twisted in his lap to face him more fully. "You're not really suggesting Mycroft might have enlisted Mary as his own personal spy?"

Sherlock chewed on his lower lip and absently reached for Molly's hand again, stroking her palm with his thumb. The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. "Why not? Mary got a job at the clinic where John was working some time after I left London. I never thought about it before, but that seems decidedly convenient when you consider that during the Magnussen case I became aware of the fact that Mycroft already knew about A.G.R.A. and that Mary was part of it. When I returned to London, Mycroft knew exactly what John had been doing since I left, even as far as being able to tell me the name of the restaurant where John would be with Mary when I decided to seek him out. I feel like an idiot for not having thought about this before."

Mollys eyes were round with wonder. "It all makes sense, Sherlock, but you shouldn't feel bad about not thinking about the potential connection before. You did have a rather full plate when you got back to London."

"Yeah, the planned attack on Parliament, and the way John was furious with my deception." He stroked his lip, remembering the way John had reacted to the revelation that he was, in fact, not dead. Being punched and head-butted had not been a pleasant experience.

He looked into Molly's eyes. "In addition, I needed to process the unwelcome information that my pathologist had become engaged to another man in my absence, and I had to come to terms with that."

Molly leaned against his chest once more. "I must admit, I admired your restraint in not trying to deduce Tom the way you always did in trying to sabotage any other relationship I might have been interested in pursuing."

Sherlock's right hand that had remained at Molly's waist while they had been talking moved upwards to rub small circles in her back, and she emitted a soft sigh of contentment at the gesture. "I still shudder to think that you even went out with my nemesis, before I knew who he was."

Molly's lips quirked. "I wasn't truly interested in him, and you know it. I was just trying to make you jealous."

"I did rather act like a territorial arse to you in those early days, didn't I? Aside from Moriarty, it really was completely unwarranted, but I felt no man was good enough for you. I didn't think Tom was either, but you had agreed to marry him, and I had to respect that. It would not have been right for me to try to drive a wedge between you, so I kept my thoughts to myself."

"I'm glad you said nothing," Molly admitted. "I needed to realise for myself that Tom was not the right man for me. I still can hardly believe that only a year after John and Mary's wedding, I ended up marrying you instead. Thank God you came back before it was too late."

Sherlock dropped a kiss to her head. "God's timing, love. I believe our conversation has veered somewhat off-track, though. I don't particularly care to revisit memories of the time when you had another man's ring on your finger."

"You're right, let's get back to this talk about your brother and his connection with Mary," agreed Molly. Suddenly she stiffened and sat upright, then looked at him again. "Remember how you told me Mary left London after you confronted her about that Ajay bloke? You told me she must have still had some connections to her former life to get fake passports in order to leave the country."

"Indeed I did." His tone was thoughtful as he added, "I never considered with whom she might still be in contact."

"What if-" Molly hesitated a moment then blurted out, "What if Mycroft was the one who helped her leave London?"

This time it was Sherlock's turn to open his mouth in astonishment at Molly's words. She was brilliant. "Perhaps you need to change your job description from pathologist to detective, my love," he said admiringly. "I believe you've hit the nail on the head. It's like the puzzle pieces are all coming together."

"I suppose it doesn't really matter now, does it?" said Molly, and he heard the sadness in her voice. "Too much time has passed."

Sherlock stared at her in disbelief. "Do you really think I can just let the matter rest without knowing for sure what the truth is? Oh no, I will visit Mycroft and demand a full explanation from him as to the exact nature of his relationship with my best friend's late wife."

"You aren't intending to see him tonight, are you?" questioned Molly, curling her arms around his neck as if to prevent him from leaving her.

"No time like the present," declared Sherlock, moving his left hand to beneath Molly's legs as if to push her off his lap. At her squeak of protest, he chuckled. "Just kidding, love. Of course I'm not going to see him tonight when I have the rare opportunity for some quality alone time with you because our daughter is sleeping for once. I'll text him later and arrange a meeting for Monday."

He was rather gratified when Molly beamed and removed her hands from around his neck to start undoing his buttons. Apparently they were on the same page about how to spend their quality alone time, even if the bedroom was off-limits due to their sleeping baby. Well, it wouldn't be the first time they had had to find an alternative venue, he thought as he waited for her to finish unbuttoning and followed it by his own actions of removing her blouse and running his hands along her bare skin, save for the ever-present maternity bra. It was a constant thorn in his side that she only allowed him to remove it on special occasions. Of course, he thought as an idea hit him, she _would_ remove it if they had a shower together.

"Fancy a shower together?" he asked, giving her a suggestive wink.

She gave him a knowing look. "You're only suggesting it so you can take off my bra."

He didn't bother denying what was obviously true, merely cocked an eyebrow.

She laughed and pressed her lips to his briefly, then got off his lap and held out her hand. "Shared shower it is."

A smug smile adorned Sherlock's lips as he allowed himself to be led to the bathroom.

Later, once they had tiptoed into the bedroom to retrieve and put on dressing gowns, then situated themselves on the sofa, Sherlock sent off a text to his brother.

_Need to meet with you about an important matter. Monday morning, okay?_

As he waited for Mycroft to respond, Sherlock brushed out Molly's still damp hair, then braided it for her while she read the Bible passage and daily devotion from _Our Daily Bread_. Usually Molly insisted that he do it, citing her enjoyment of hearing his speaking voice. It was nice to be absolved of that responsibility for once and listen to her doing the reading instead. Her soft, melodic voice enthralled him as much as she claimed his voice did the same for her.

He was just finishing the braid when his phone chimed with a text alert. He twisted the hair band into the end of Molly's hair and then leaned forward to retrieve his phone from the coffee table.

_What's so urgent, brother mine? Care to elaborate?_

Sherlock showed the text to Molly. He thought the element of surprise would be better, to catch his brother off-guard, but he liked to confer with Molly because she was his calm voice of reason, and her advice was always sound. "Do I tell him or not?"

Molly thought a moment. "No, I think your best option would be to just confront him and demand answers so he doesn't have time to make up some kind of sugar-coated explanation. When you see him you can tell him you want the truth, that you are quite certain he placed Mary into John's path to begin with."

Sherlock nodded. "Agreed. Glad we are on the same page."

He tapped out a response.

_Would prefer to wait until we are face to face. What time would be convenient? It might take some time._

Mycroft's response came almost immediately.

_Very well, I am intrigued. Ten o'clock. I'll let Anthea know to expect you._

_Thank you, _Sherlock responded, then set down his phone.

A smile crossed his lips as he looked at Molly. "You know, I'm rather looking forward to finding out some answers and making Mycroft a little uncomfortable. I still feel somewhat resentful that he never bothered to inform me of Mary's past until after Ajay came into the picture to expose it properly. If he had, I would not have found myself in a position where she surprised me in Magnussen's office and ended up shooting me."

Molly sighed. "It still hurts me to think she did that to you, but sacrificing her life to save yours does redeem her a lot in my eyes."

"I know," Sherlock agreed soberly. "If Mary hadn't been there, I would most certainly have been a dead man."

Molly's lips twisted. "Of course, if it weren't for Mary and her past, you wouldn't have been involved in the case to begin with, so I suppose it's a circular argument."

Sherlock took her hand. "I'm just glad things didn't play out like that dream I had last year where you took the bullet for me and nearly died."

Molly rested her head against his shoulder. "Technically, it was the year before." He rolled his eyes at her correction as she continued. "At least it still had a happy ending for us."

"I must say, I am grateful that all those dreams we have had as a result of me reading through your diary ended up with happy endings. They are eminently preferable to the occasional snatches of nightmares I've had that involve Moriarty and him succeeding in killing you."

Molly shuddered. "He truly was an evil man, and the world is definitely a better place without him."

A wail erupted from the baby monitor. "I'll get her," said Sherlock, preventing Molly from rising. "At least she slept for a while. Let's hope you can feed her, and she goes back to sleep."

He went to their bedroom and picked up his grizzling daughter, noting that her nappy was wet, undoubtedly the reason she had awakened.

He returned to the sitting room with Victoria and changed her (wet nappies were not really an issue, after all), and handed her over to Molly.

Once Victoria had finished feeding, she seemed alert rather than sleepy, and Sherlock and Molly spent some time entertaining her with tickles that prompted giggles, as well as playing pat-a-cake and peek-a-boo.

Some time later, Sherlock placed Victoria in the baby swing that had been a Christmas present from Mrs. Hudson. The gentle rocking motion served its purpose, and once the baby had fallen asleep, he gently unbuckled her and headed back to the bedroom to return her to her cot.

Soon afterwards, he and Molly also retired for the night. As Sherlock drifted off to sleep, with his arm looped over his wife as usual, he thought that Monday couldn't come soon enough; it was definitely time to get some long overdue answers from his brother.

* * *

**Author's note:** One thing I enjoyed showing in this chapter is how, contrary to popular belief, it would be possible for Sherlock to be a family man who is happily married even as he is still involved in his detective work. I've always thought that Sherlock and Molly complement one another, and I hope you can see that when I write, particularly when she is able to come up with ideas to help him. He's an even better detective with her as a sounding board.

Additional note: The dream where Molly is shot instead of Mary is one that has not yet been published. It is part of the diary timeline, and I will begin publishing that one soon. Stand by for _Confronting Evil and the Truth_.

So, the game is on, and the story is set for the confrontation - are you looking forward to it? The review box below awaits your response.


	3. Long Overdue Answers

By the time Sunday was over and Monday rolled around, Sherlock was itching to get the answers he sought from his brother.

"Right then, I'm off. Wish me luck," he called as he put on his coat.

"Hang on a sec," responded a yawning Molly, walking over to the playpen and extracting their daughter, then bringing her over to him. "Don't we even get a kiss goodbye?" She had begun her week of night shift and hadn't had more than a two-hour nap the previous afternoon before preparing dinner, and he knew she would be ready for a long sleep after lunch.

Sherlock smiled. "Of course you do." He kissed his daughter's forehead, then Molly's lips, feeling his daughter reach up to tug a curl as he did so. Gently, he extricated himself from the baby's grasp. "Daddy has to go now," he told Victoria, who did not look very happy about it by the way she thrust out her lower lip.

"I hope Mycroft gives you all the answers you're looking for," remarked Molly, bouncing Victoria on her hip.

"Me too," responded Sherlock. "Want me to pick something up for lunch when I'm done?"

"Don't worry about it. We still have beef left from the roast I made yesterday which we can have on sandwiches, and there are a few roast potatoes and other vegetables left as well I can heat up in the microwave."

Sherlock nodded. Molly had invited her mother over for dinner the night before as thanks for watching Victoria on New Year's Eve, and had made the Sunday roast she only made when they had company. She always said it was not worth going to so much trouble for just the two of them. Molly had also invited Mrs. Hudson upstairs to join them and it had been a very nice evening, although Sherlock had found his mind wandering on several occasions to thoughts of the next day.

But here it was at last, time to get those answers.

When Sherlock arrived at the SIS building in which Mycroft spent the majority of his time, although perhaps not quite as much now that he was a married man, he took a deep breath and entered.

The previous evening he had retrieved his security card from the box in the wardrobe which held important documents, and he held it up to the security guard just inside the entrance. At one time he had been a regular visitor to the building, when he had been involved in doing MI6 missions, but it had been awhile, and he didn't recognise the man on security. At least with the card he could bypass the need to go to the reception desk and wait for Anthea to get him.

Sherlock entered the lift and pressed the button for the underground floor number that housed Mycroft's office.

Upon exiting, he used his security card to gain entrance to the inner section and headed straight to where he knew Anthea's desk was situated.

Before he even had a chance to speak she smiled at him and said, "Oh, Mr. Holmes, your brother is expecting you." She picked up her phone and pressed a button. "Mr. Holmes, your brother has arrived."

Sherlock could just hear Mycroft's response. "You can bring him to my office."

Anthea stood and gestured for him to follow her.

He didn't really need an escort, but he was technically a civilian now with no special clearances beyond that which gave him access past the security checkpoint. There had been a time when he had had level three clearance - the Counter-Terrorism Check (CTC), during the time when he had been involved in MI6 missions.

Mycroft had level four, the top clearance level, Developed Vetting (DV), and he had personally 'retired' Sherlock from active duty soon after he became engaged to Molly. His brother had, quite rightly, informed him that his services would no longer be required with a wife and possible future fatherhood to consider, and Sherlock had accepted his change in status without complaint. He did occasionally miss the thrill of danger, but his life with Molly and Victoria more than made up for the reduction in risk-taking and excitement. Life could be thrilling in other ways with a wife and child to take care of.

"I see congratulations are in order," remarked Sherlock as they walked along the corridor. He had seen the ring on Anthea's finger. He was rather surprised she had a life outside of being Mycroft's personal assistant, but of course, that was nonsensical. Most people did not eat, sleep and breathe work. He had only been like that himself in the past because he had been bored and always in need of the next exciting thing.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Holmes," she responded pleasantly. "It only took four years for Peter to work up the nerve to propose." A wry smile touched her lips.

_At least I didn't waste any time once I realised how I felt about Molly. Seven years was long enough,_ he thought to himself.

He was about to ask politely whether she and her fiancé had set a wedding date when they arrived at the closed door to Mycroft's office.

Anthea knocked at the door, then stood back.

"Enter," came the response. Anthea opened the door and Mycroft said, "Thank you Anthea, I will summon you once we have finished our business."

"Yes, sir," she responded and gestured for Sherlock to enter. She closed the door behind him and he heard the clicking of her high heels walking away.

Sherlock walked until he stood directly in front of Mycroft's desk.

"Well now, brother mine," said Mycroft mildly, leaning back casually in his chair, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting you have requested of me?"

"Information."

"Information?" questioned his brother, cocking an eyebrow, then gesturing to the chair at the back of the room. "Do take a seat and make yourself comfortable."

Sherlock pressed his lips together. He was not going to relax into a chair. This was too important. "I prefer to stand."

"Suit yourself." Mycroft crossed his legs languidly. "So, what information do you require now? Do you have some urgent case from Lestrade for which you require my superior assistance?"

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back. "Not at all. This is information of a personal nature."

Mycroft gave him an interested look. "What kind of personal information? Do you feel the need for me to elaborate further about the past for which you have only fractured memories?"

Sherlock shook his head then blurred out, "I want to know about your true connection with Mary, not the little snippets you've told me in the past about your dealings with her through A.G.R.A."

Mycroft suddenly looked a little uncomfortable and shifted slightly in his chair. "I don't know what you mean," he said finally. "I knew Mary only indirectly through her association with A.G.R.A." He didn't quite look at Sherlock as he spoke, and Sherlock knew his brother was lying through his teeth. He was having none of that.

He unclasped his hands and slammed both fists down onto the desk, startling Mycroft. "Bollocks!" he exploded. Sherlock rarely cursed, but this time it was warranted, and he knew that Mycroft would understand he was not going to tolerate any more lies. He was going to go on the attack.

He looked directly at Mycroft and said with a glare, "I know you were the one who got Mary the job at the clinic so she could keep an eye on John for you while I was away. That implies a much deeper connection than you would otherwise have me believe."

Mycroft's eyebrows lifted in astonishment. "How did you discover that? Who let the cat out of the bag?"

Sherlock gave his brother a supercilious smile. "You just did. Thank you for confirming my deduction." He suddenly recalled using much the same tactic several years earlier when trying to determine where Irene's camera phone was hidden. She too had fallen prey to his tactic of pretending to know something he really was not sure about.

Mycroft let out a heavy sigh. "Well played, brother mine. It seems I have some explaining to do."

"I want the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth," demanded Sherlock, invoking the words usually used in a court of law. He folded his arms and waited for his brother to respond.

"Do sit down, Sherlock. This may take some time." Mycroft spoke in a resigned tone, and Sherlock knew he had won. Obligingly he pulled the chair from the back of the room, set it in front of the desk and sat, crossing his own legs before looking expectantly at his brother.

Mycroft took a deep breath, expelled it slowly and began to speak. "My personal association with Mary only extends as far back as the events at Tbilisi. Before that, she was merely one of the members of A.G.R.A. and I had no reason to speak directly with her, although she, like the others, knew I was considered the head of the initiative to use freelance agents. Each of the members also had a code name. Mary, or rather Rosamund as I knew her real name to be, used the code name Gypsy."

He paused for a moment, as if trying to order his thoughts, then continued. "After the Tbilisi incident, we all assumed the team had been killed along with the hostages until I got a phone call from 'Gypsy' two days later. Suffice to say, I felt I had to ensure safe passage back to London for her and made the arrangements. Once she-"

"Why didn't you just send her back to her roots, the country she originated from to return to whatever she had been doing before she was recruited?" interrupted Sherlock.

Mycroft frowned. "Deduced that she isn't an English native, did you? Clever of you. She was initially recruited from Glasgow University in Scotland. I am not fully aware of the details of her past except that she was an orphan. In any case, once Rosamund arrived in London and was debriefed, I arranged for her to have a new identity, the one you are familiar with."

"Mary Morstan, stillborn in October of 1972," answered Sherlock, bringing up the information immediately from his mind palace.

Mycroft nodded. "Exactly. I arranged for her to find work in the profession she had been initially pursuing at university and thought that was the end of it."

"Until everything happened with Moriarty and I had to fake my death," noted Sherlock, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward to put his elbows on the desk so he could pose his fingers in their usual steepled position.

Mycroft mirrored his move. "After your 'death', I kept tabs on John. He was not doing well, was overindulging in the use of alcohol, and I decided it might be prudent to find a way to bring him out of his depression. You know Ella of course, Mummy's therapist friend, who I recommended John see after your 'funeral' in order to cope."

Sherlock nodded. "Of course, I had a couple sessions with her myself after Mary's death, not that they were particularly useful. She was the one who suggested I might have Asperger's Syndrome and made me do an online test that seemed to indicate I did have the neurological condition."

Mycroft nodded slowly. "Ah yes, I recall you telling me that after your honeymoon. But your responses were not truly accurate because your behavioural change occurred as a result of Victor's disappearance. In any case, Ella, although not allowed to discuss the details of her sessions with John, indicated he was not doing well. That was what prompted me to get in contact with Rosamund - Mary."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "So you found her a job at the clinic in order for her to spy on John?"

"Not at all," responded Mycroft defensively. "I merely asked her to befriend him, and after I provided her with a dossier on his background, she agreed. As you know, they eventually formed a romantic attachment, and I was quite pleased that your friend had finally moved on from his grief at your loss."

"But that's not the end of the story, is it?" said Sherlock pointedly. "You were the one who helped her escape London during that whole case with the Margaret Thatcher busts."

Mycroft cocked his head slightly. "Well, well, brother mine, I'm impressed that you managed to deduce that as well. I had thought it would never be brought to light. So, what do you plan to do with this information? Will you reveal it to John?"

Sherlock smiled slightly. "My wife was the one who deduced that, actually."

"Clever woman."

"That she is." He unsteepled his fingers and sat back slowly in his chair once again. He hadn't actually thought that far ahead in regard to telling John. He had only wanted to know the truth from Mycroft.

Mycroft watched without further comment as Sherlock spent a few moments thinking about what to do next.

Finally, he made a decision. "As for your question about John, at this point, with John happily remarried with another child on the way, I do not think it would be prudent to bring up shadows from his past. They could only serve to hurt him to know that his initial meeting of Mary was because of your machinations."

Mycroft cringed slightly at his rather cutting words before Sherlock continued. "I do not believe John has even thought about that, nor who helped Mary leave London, so in this instance I think it best to let sleeping dogs lie. However, should he ever develop a curiosity about the circumstances surrounding her precipitate departure from London and who might have assisted her in accomplishing it, I will not shield him from the truth." Sherlock's tone was firm. He was quite certain this was the correct course of action. He had only required validation from Mycroft to settle his own curiosity.

Mycroft leaned back also. "I think that is a wise decision, Sherlock. Is there anything else you need to discuss at this moment, or may I return to my work?"

Sherlock stood and returned the chair in which he had been sitting to its former location. "I think I have spent enough time in your office for now. I'd like to go home and have a nice lunch with my wife and daughter."

Mycroft gave him what Sherlock felt was a rather relieved smile. "Do give your wife my regards. And how is your offspring doing?"

Sherlock pulled out his phone from his trouser pocket and brought up a recent photo to show Mycroft. He extended the phone to his brother. "She has been a little grizzly lately, cutting her second top tooth."

Mycroft peered at the photo, which displayed Molly grinning and lifting Victoria's gum to expose two top teeth. The second had poked through yesterday, and Sherlock had snapped a picture.

"I must acknowledge that you and your pathologist have created a most endearing specimen of life," remarked Mycroft as a smile played about his lips.

Sherlock gave him a rather shocked look. Was Mycroft actually giving him a compliment? Was his brother actually more fond of his niece than he typically let on? It certainly appeared so.

He restrained himself from making a teasing comment however and merely said, "Thank you, I would tend to agree."

Mycroft handed back Sherlock's phone and picked up the handset for his phone. "Anthea, you may escort my brother back to the front entrance."

"Of course, I'll be right there," Sherlock heard.

"How are you going to function when she is off on her honeymoon?" asked Sherlock curiously.

Mycroft waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, you observed she is wearing an engagement ring. As it happens, she is only planning to take a week off. I can manage that long."

"When is she getting married?"

Mycroft thought for a moment. "Some time towards the end of winter, I fear the exact date has escaped me. Late February, I believe; rather precipitate if you ask me. It will be far more difficult to function efficiently without her if and when the time comes that she decides to procreate with her husband." Mycroft gave him a rather mournful look.

Sherlock laughed. "Perhaps you need to train a new personal assistant in the meantime."

Mycroft huffed. "There will be time enough if Anthea informs me she is in the family way. Perhaps she will be one of those people who chooses career over family."

It took a little longer than Sherlock expected for Anthea to arrive, and when she opened the door, he noted her pale complexion and a slightly nervous look on her face. "Sorry, Mr. Holmes," she apologised to both men. "I had to make a quick detour."

Sherlock gave her a suspicious look. _Five years to propose, suddenly pale complexion, hands still slightly wet from an apparent hasty detour to the loo. _He looked over at Mycroft and made an oblique comment. "That thing we were discussing? Perhaps you had better look into it sooner rather than later."

Mycroft gave him a rather perplexed look, and then his own expression changed as comprehension dawned. "Er, perhaps so. Goodbye for now, brother mine." He addressed Anthea. "After you have escorted my brother out, would you please return to my office?"

Anthea bit her lip. "I'll do that, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock sincerely hoped his brother would be kind to his long-time assistant. Once they were at the lift, he said, "Don't let my brother intimidate you, Anthea. He may be disgruntled about you having to take maternity leave in a few months, but you are entitled to it. God knows you've been there for him long enough to deserve as much time off as you want. Molly took three months of maternity leave herself. If you need any pregnancy tips, I'm sure she would be happy to offer her advice if you need it."

Anthea looked at him in astonishment, blushing as he began to talk, but then a smile appeared on her face. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

"If you have your phone handy, I can give you Molly's number. Oh, and I suggest you call me Sherlock from now on. Really, there's no need for such formality away from my brother."

She looked surprised, but nodded, taking out her phone and Sherlock gave her Molly's number. "Thank you...Sherlock," she said hesitantly when she had put in the contact details. She added shyly, "And when my employer is not around, you may call me by my real name, Andrea."

Sherlock nodded solemnly. He had always known Anthea was not her true name. John had informed him of that fact shortly after they had met, and he felt rather honoured that she would volunteer her real name. "Andrea," he said slowly, testing out the unfamiliar, yet similar name. "I like that. Perhaps Molly and I will have to have you and your fiancé over for dinner sometime."

She gave him a sweet smile. "I'd like that."

Sherlock was wearing his own smile of satisfaction as he left the building and headed home. It had been a rather productive morning.

* * *

**Author's note:** So, the truth is finally out. Did you like the addition of Anthea to the story? Her character is one I've rarely written about. Incidentally, we know her real name is not Anthea. According to something I read, her real name is Andrea, so I thought it would be fun to address it.

I tried to visualize the SIS building from looking at TST when Lady Smallwood is denied access at a security checkpoint. Obviously, it isn't something I cam be sure about, but hopefully it comes off as believable.

The clearance levels I described are accurate, I researched them, and there are four revels of clearance in the UK.

You can find the conversation about Sherlock potentially having Asperger's in my story, _A Honeymoon Journey_.

So, what next - do you think John should know about what Sherlock discovered? I look forward to hearing what my readers think!


	4. Sharing the Answers and Making Decisions

**Special Note**: Before you begin this chapter, I want to take a moment to encourage people to stay safe as the world has suddenly gone into crisis mode due to COVID-19. I am praying for health and safety for all and wise decisions on how to deal with things. If you are concerned for the future, I encourage you to read the Bible and find peace and comfort in its words. We may not know the future, but I do believe everything is ultimately under God's control - do you?

* * *

Sherlock arrived home just before noon and entered the flat to find Molly sitting at the kitchen table. Victoria was in the feeding seat Sherlock had fastened to another of the kitchen chairs, and Molly was feeding her a pouch of baby food.

Molly looked up with a smile as he entered the kitchen. Victoria made a sound of protest as Molly's hand, which had been about to place a spoonful of apple and mango into her mouth, hovered inches away. "That didn't take too long," she observed, then returned her attention to Victoria and fed her the spoonful. She squeezed another one from the pouch onto the baby spoon.

Sherlock seated himself beside Molly to watch her feed their baby. He always enjoyed the way Victoria would open her mouth in preparation for the next spoonful of baby food when it was something sweet that she enjoyed; she was not quite as impressed with the savoury foods which she tended to push around with her tongue and expel, and Molly would be constantly wiping her face with her bib. Sherlock couldn't blame his daughter. He had sampled some of those pouches and thought a couple of them were quite disgusting, particularly the Courgette Aubergine and Red Pepper one. The Carrot Sweet Potato Swede one wasn't much better. However, Molly insisted that their daughter needed a balanced diet that included vegetables as well, even if most of them did not end up in Victoria's stomach. Sherlock could have pointed that out, but it was not worth an argument.

Victoria suddenly gave him a toothy little smile between spoonfuls of apple and mango purée. Mycroft was right, he and Molly had created an extraordinarily adorable child, although he supposed every parent felt that way. Sherlock grinned back as Molly asked, not looking at him, "So, how did things go with Mycroft, then?"

"Easier than I expected, actually. Once I acted as if I already knew he had planted Mary at the clinic to watch over John, rather than suspected, he asked how I had found out, and after that it was easy to extract the rest of the information from him."

Victoria blew a raspberry at him and dribbles of apple mango came out of her mouth. Sherlock knew that meant she had had enough. Molly of course tried to coax another spoon into their daughter's mouth. "Just a little more, sweet pea," she crooned and Victoria relented, opening her mouth for it even as Molly said, "And did he confess to helping Mary leave London as well?"

"Yep." Sherlock popped his _p_ in satisfaction then watched as Victoria shook her head at the next proffered spoonful from her mother, putting her hands to her mouth. "I didn't bother asking for all the details, it's enough to know the truth."

Molly nodded and began wiping Victoria's mouth with her bib. "Did he elaborate on how he got to know Mary so well in the first place?"

Sherlock went over to the sink and wet a cloth to wipe Victoria's mouth and hands properly, then returned and finished cleaning his daughter up as he responded. "As I said, he tried to lie at first and say he didn't know her as anything more than an A.G.R.A. member. So I decided I'd act like I knew for sure that he had got Mary the job st the clinic where John was working." He gave her a smug smile. "Mycroft fell for it, and then he had to tell me everything. He said he didn't really know her as more than a member of A.G.R.A. who used the code name Gypsy until _after _the events of Tbilisi. She contacted him after she escaped, and he set the wheels in motion for her to change her identity and become Mary Morstan. Later, he asked for her help in befriending John after my supposed death and got her a job at the clinic."

Molly's mouth opened in surprise as Sherlock unbuckled and lifted a now clean Victoria from the feeding seat. "Do you intend to let John know about that?"

Sherlock decided to ask what Molly thought, to see if they were on the same page as they had been days earlier when discussing how he should approach Mycroft. He walked over to the sofa with Victoria, motioning for Molly to follow, then sat with his daughter on his lap. As soon as Molly had seated herself beside him, he asked, "What do _you _think I should do?"

He bounced Victoria lightly on his knees and waited for Molly to answer. He could see she was deep in thought, chewing on her lower lip for several seconds before answering. "To be honest, my instincts say to let the matter rest. John has moved on with a new life. Bringing up his past and more deception would serve no purpose but to make him second-guess whether Mary's love for him was sincere."

Sherlock nodded and smiled. It was very rare indeed that he and Molly disagreed, and as usual, this was a time where they were of one accord. "My thoughts exactly, and that is also what I told Mycroft when he asked if I intended to reveal the information to John. I did say, however, that if John were to one day start asking questions, I would not keep the truth from him."

"I agree. We certainly shouldn't lie about it if John asks, but if he doesn't, there's no harm done. Those events are well and truly in the past." She paused a moment, then added slowly, "I think we also have to consider the possibility that Rosie might want to know more about her birth mother when she is older. If I put myself into her shoes, I know I'd be curious about it."

"That is a possibility," conceded Sherlock. "It is a bridge we will cross if and when the time comes."

Victoria made a little giggle of delight as Sherlock bounced her a little more.

"Sherlock," Molly's voice suddenly took on a sharp note, "you shouldn't be bouncing Victoria so hard. She just ate, and before that I breast-fed her."

Sherlock frowned. "She's fine, she's having a good time." He looked at Victoria, "Aren't you, princess?" He bounced her a little more and then Victoria's happy expression changed, and he was rather shocked when she opened her mouth and a stream of baby food flew out onto his shirt.

"Famous last words," said Molly with a sigh, and Sherlock looked at her ruefully.

"Remind me to listen better next time you tell me something," he said with a twist to his lips, and Molly got up to collect the wet cloth to once again clean up Victoria's face and dab at Sherlock's shirt.

"You had better go get changed while I put Victoria in the playpen," instructed Molly after she had cleaned them both up. "It's time for us to have lunch, anyway."

Sherlock did as he was told, taking off his suit jacket and shirt and setting them aside. They would need to be sent to the dry cleaner as soon as possible, he supposed. He thought a moment, then decided to not bother putting on another suit jacket or good shirt, selecting one of his more casual checked pattern ones.

By the time he returned to the kitchen, Molly had the leftover vegetables warming in the microwave and was making their roast beef sandwiches at the counter by the sink. He watched her quietly for a few moments, thinking how grateful he was that there were no longer any secrets between them, that there was no secret past for them to be concerned about. By now he had told her everything about his past drug usage, the difficulty he had had with addiction, the way Mycroft had him trained as an MI6 agent to serve as a distraction from returning to drugs. There were details from his past as an operative that he could never reveal, but he suspected she knew it was likely he had killed people in extreme cases of danger.

There had been times when his life would have been forfeit if he had not pulled the trigger first. That training had served him well when he had been prepared to shoot the vest of explosives John had been wearing at the pool. He had also left more than one dead body behind when he had rescued Irene, although there was no need to tell Molly about that either.

Those situations had been entirely different though, as he had discovered after shooting Magnussen. He had felt sadness over causing the loss of life, but with Magnussen he had also felt guilt. Fortunately it had been some time since Sherlock had been plagued by nightmares from his past activities. He supposed they would still occur occasionally. But certainly the frequency had reduced enormously. He'd had a couple of short relapses into drugs in those years before he became a detective, mostly as a result of recurring nightmares which he sought to escape. Thankfully those days were all in the past. Attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings now and then at his church had also helped Sherlock to understand his addiction and how it had been unwittingly fed by his experiences as an agent.

One of the reasons Sherlock admired Molly, as well as loved her to distraction, was that she had never shown any sign of judgment over his past. For so long he had felt unworthy of her love, but she had changed all that, made him realise he deserved love as much as anyone else, and his life had never been better. She had also been encouraging when he had brought up the idea of going to NA, saying she thought it would be helpful for him as he continued his recovery. He would always be thankful to God for her support.

He walked behind Molly where she stood at the counter and slid his arms around her waist in a gesture he often did, resting his chin atop her head. "I love you, baby," he told her, and she stopped in her task long enough to twist in his embrace so he could kiss her.

"Love you too."

He released her and then remembered his talk with Anthea - _Andrea_, he reminded himself. "By the way, I learned something new today when I went to see Mycroft."

Molly cut the sandwiches in half and put them on plates while he busied himself making tea for them. "Something else about Mary?"

She moved to the microwave, which had beeped to indicate the vegetables were done, and extracted the dish as Sherlock responded. "Nope. It was about Mycroft's assistant, Anthea. She's engaged."

Molly spooned some vegetables onto each plate. "Oh, That's lovely, I've only met her a couple times, but she seems like a very nice woman."

Sherlock set the teacups on the table and collected forks for them to use while Molly set the plates onto the table. "She's not only engaged, she's pregnant."

He was a little startled when Molly grinned and said, "I hope she gets married soon enough so that she can get into a nice wedding dress. I remember the one dream I had where we got married when I was pregnant, and I only just fit into my wedding dress."

Sherlock grinned back. "Ah yes, that delightfully silly friends with benefits one."

Molly coloured slightly. "Don't tease me. You also had a dream where I was obviously pregnant when we got married, except that I didn't get to wear a wedding dress in that one."

"That is true," agreed Sherlock. "Well, Mycroft said she is getting married in late February. I spoke to her and suggested she turn to you for pregnancy tips if she needs them, even suggested we have her and her fiancé over for dinner sometime. I gave her your number. I hope that's okay with you."

Molly didn't answer immediately, she went through to the sitting room, presumably to make sure Victoria was okay. When she returned, obviously satisfied that Victoria would be fine as they ate, she said, "That's absolutely fine, Sherlock. It still amazes me how you have changed so much as to be willing to invite people we are not very familiar with to have dinner with us."

"I really should have cleared it with you first," responded Sherlock before taking a big bite of his roast beef sandwich.

"Honey, don't worry about it. I hope Anthea has a better time with her pregnancy than I did." She took a bite of her own sandwich.

"Well, if the fact that she had to make a quick trip to the loo before she returned to escort me back to the lift is any indication, she might not have an easy time of it either. In fact, that was one of the things that alerted me to the fact she was pregnant," Sherlock informed her, taking up his fork to spear a roasted potato.

"Oh, poor thing," Molly responded sympathetically. "I wouldn't wish my extreme morning sickness on anyone even if it did yield a wonderful result."

They continued to eat, making an occasional comment to one another.

Once they had cleaned up the dishes, Molly remarked to Sherlock, "It's very quiet in there. I wonder if Victoria has fallen asleep in the playpen."

They walked together into the sitting room and discovered this was indeed so. Victoria had apparently fallen asleep while clutching a Detective Pusheen plush toy that had been a Christmas gift from Greg and Lori Lestrade. The little toy even had a deerstalker hat, and Sherlock had complained to Molly afterwards that Greg had especially bought it for Victoria knowing how the detective detested the deerstalker he had been given years earlier by the New Scotland Yard police force. Sherlock was relieved that that particular hat had gone missing quite sometime earlier, and he still suspected Molly had thrown it out, despite her protestations to the contrary.

Victoria, however, loved her toy, and the damp status of the side of the toy indicated that she had been happily gnawing on it before falling asleep.

Sherlock felt it was time to bring up the subject of the missing "ear hat" again. "So, Molly, my sweet," he asked, placing his hands on her shoulders from behind as she leaned into the playpen to observe their sleeping daughter, "when are you going to admit you threw away that deerstalker of mine?"

Molly twisted her head around and gave him an impish smile, "I have told you many times I did not throw it away." Then she tilted her head slightly and added, "However, it may have become mixed up with some things of mine I was donating to church when they were doing a charity drive for the homeless a few months ago."

Sherlock kissed her temple to show he was not cross. "You are a little minx for keeping the truth from me for so long, but I'm glad to know it will be put to good use, hopefully by someone on the street. Better than languishing in a corner of the wardrobe, out of sight."

Molly giggled. "You never know, maybe someone in your homeless network ended up with it and is wearing it even now, never knowing it once belonged to you."

"Perhaps so," agreed Sherlock. He looked at the adorable dimple in his wife's cheek as she smiled. "You know, Molly, seeing as Victoria is asleep in here, that means our bedroom is free for some recreational activity."

Molly leaned into him. "Shouldn't you be thinking about seeking out some new client consultations? And I need to be getting some sleep as well, seeing as I'm on night shift."

Sherlock smirked and eased her unfastened cardigan off her shoulders and let it slide to the floor. As he did so, he feathered a row of kisses down Molly's face and along her neck, eliciting a little shiver from her; she loved her neck being kissed. "Always time for a little pro-creation practice before you go to sleep, don't you think?"

"Oh fine," she said in an annoyed tone, but Sherlock wasn't fooled for an instant. "But you have to get the video camera and move it into here so we can hear Victoria if she wakes up."

Sherlock proceeded to do just that. He certainly hoped this would be one of the times when Victoria would not interrupt them while they were in the throes of passion. That had happened often enough, and it was a bit of a mood-killer.

He retrieved the camera from the side of the cot and brought it out into the sitting room, setting it up so that the camera was angled to display their sleeping baby on the video screen usually kept in the sitting room. "All good?" he enquired, looking at Molly hopefully as he showed her the display screen.

She answered without words, giving him a come-hither look and reached for him, trailing her fingers along the side of his face and delicately touching his lips which tingled at the caress. Then she lifted herself up on tiptoes, and he bent his head to meet her lips with his own, kissing her deeply for several moments, as he felt his insides warm from the contact, as always.

With his free hand he led her towards the bedroom, then set the video monitor on her bedside table.

Things were just getting rather heated in the bedroom when Victoria let out an audible sigh. That gave Sherlock a few anxious moments as he and Molly both glanced over at the monitor. He smiled with relief when the baby merely shifted slightly and did not wake, and he returned his attentions to Molly.

Some time later, Sherlock gently disengaged himself from Molly's embrace and left her to sleep. He got dressed again and picked up the video monitor, then returned to the sitting room and placed it on his desk. At this point he didn't really need the monitor, he could see the playpen from his vantage point, and he would hear Victoria if she woke, but he did like to glance occasionally at that sweet sleeping face with the soft brown hair that framed it.

Sherlock turned on his laptop and went to his email. As usual, there were requests for consultations to be sorted through.

_Why do people think I have nothing better to do than ascertain whether their lovers or spouses are cheating on them?_ he wondered for the umpteenth time. There were plenty of private detectives out there for that sort of thing. These days he tended to have a very narrow view of people who acted so shamefully, and he preferred to use his talents for nobler pursuits that involved proper mysteries - missing heirlooms, even missing people. Those cases brought greater personal reward when he was able to solve them.

He was just contemplating what email to respond to with an offer of consultation when he received a text from Greg Lestrade.

_Hey, Sherlock. Happy New Year. I have a rather interesting case for you if you are interested - involves a pair of severed ears, not from the same person, delivered in a cardboard box to a Miss Sarah Cushing of Croydon. Could use your help if you can be here at ten in the morning so we can visit the lady who received the mysterious package. May just be a prank by some medical students she had to evict, but if not, I'm sure you'd enjoy a nice, juicy murder investigation, wouldn't you? Feel free to ask John along as well. Let me know._

Sherlock's eyes lit up at the text. It had been a good long while since he'd had the opportunity to investigate a potential murder, especially one that involved severed body parts.

Immediately, he took up the video monitor and headed downstairs to see whether Mrs. Hudson would be available to babysit the following day so he could head to New Scotland Yard.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door to his knock. "Sherlock! Do you need me to babysit your daughter tomorrow?"

Sherlock was rather impressed that she knew him so well, but then again, he did tend to usually wander downstairs to see her only when he required her services or could smell her fresh scones. He gave her a rather bashful smile and nodded. "If you are available. Molly is on night shift, and Lestrade has requested my services on a case that involves a pair of severed ears. He would like me to be at the Yard at ten in the morning, but if the case is complicated, and it sounds like it might be, it will require a few hours of my time, and Molly will need to get her rest after lunch before she has her next shift."

She shuddered, obviously picking up on his words about his case. "Severed ears? That sounds disgusting, although I suppose it is preferable to you storing said ears in your fridge."

Sherlock pursed his lips and shifted slightly from one foot to the other. "At least I limit my experiments to the fridge in the basement flat these days."

"That is true," Mrs. Hudson agreed, taking the video monitor from Sherlock and peering at the sleeping Victoria. "Such a sweet little lamb, and oh my goodness, what is that toy with a deerstalker on its head she is holding?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Lestrade's idea of a fun gift for my daughter for Christmas, probably to remind me of that awful hat I used to wear."

"I noticed you haven't worn that in a very long time."

"Neither Molly nor I cared for it, and it has now found a better home via a charity drive for the homeless that was held at our church," explained Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson returned the monitor to him. "I quite liked the hat, although I understand why Molly would not care for those lovely locks of yours to be covered up."

Sherlock felt a little flustered. As if he didn't have enough females obsessed with his hair, now his landlady was commenting on it too? "Yes, well, may I leave Victoria with you in the morning or have Molly bring her down after lunch?"

"Of course, dear," responded his landlady quickly. "You know how much I enjoy taking care of your baby."

Sherlock rested his free hand on her shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. "I don't know what I'd do without you." Her answering smile of delight made him feel extraordinarily pleased with himself. It was nice to acknowledge the kindness of others. It didn't only make the recipient feel good, it gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling of happiness as well.

He returned upstairs and sat at his desk to send off a text to Lestrade.

_Sorry for the delayed response. It sounds like a case that will take some time, so I needed to arrange for Mrs. Hudson to watch Victoria. I do not believe Molly would appreciate me bringing the baby along on an investigation. I look forward to hearing the details at ten o'clock in the morning and will see if John wishes to accompany me._

He then typed another message to John.

_Lestrade has a case that involves a couple of severed ears. The game is on! Would you like to meet me at the Yard to consult with Lestrade at ten tomorrow morning?_

He had just sent off the text when a response came in from the detective inspector.

_Great. I can't wait to see what you make of it. Speaking of your daughter, how is she enjoying her Christmas present from Lori and myself?_

Sherlock made a face when he read the second sentence and formulated a response.

_Regrettably, it seems to have become her favourite toy. She is at this moment clutching it to herself as she takes a nap._

He was about to hit the send button when he thought better of it. Rudeness was part of the old Sherlock, and he needed to remember that. Old habits died hard at times. He deleted the word "regrettably" and sent off the text.

The response of a thumbs up emoji assured him he had made the correct decision in removing the first word.

A sound came from the video monitor Sherlock had placed back on the desk, and he glanced at the screen to see Victoria stirring.

Sherlock went over to the playpen. He lifted Victoria out, feeling extraordinarily pleased when she greeted him with a smile and said "Dada."

He was still a little proud of the fact that her first word had been 'Dada' rather than 'Mama'. Of course it might have had something to do with the fact that whenever he was alone with Victoria he would say to her, "Can you say 'Dada'? 'Da - da'." He was not about to admit to his daughter's indoctrination though. Molly had been slightly miffed by Victoria's apparent preference for saying that word, but in actuality their baby had begun also saying Mama only a couple weeks later and Sherlock suspected Molly at that point had begun doing her own method of indoctrination when he was not around.

Victoria shifted in his grasp and reached back towards the cot. With a little sigh, Sherlock retrieved her Pusheen toy and she began to gnaw on it as he returned to his desk and sat with his daughter on his lap.

His phone pinged and he used his free hand to pick it up and read the message which had come in from John.

_Just cleared it with Kayla. I'll meet you there tomorrow. Kayla also wanted to see if you, Molly and Victoria are free to come for a little birthday party for Rosie's 2nd birthday next week Saturday._

Sherlock mentally calculated Molly's schedule. She would work the weekend after her week of night shift was concluded Friday morning. That meant the following Saturday she would be off.

_Wouldn't miss it for the world,_ he responded back to John, as he balanced Victoria on his lap while tapping at the keys.

He was about to replace his phone on the desk when it pinged once more. It was one more text from John, and the words confirmed that his decision to not divulge the information to him about Mary unless absolutely necessary had been the right one.

_This is going to be such a great year isn't it? Working together again, watching our children grow. I'm so blessed, Sherlock. I couldn't ask for more than I've been given._

Sherlock sent off a thumbs up emoji and set down the phone again. He lifted Victoria so she was face-to-face with him.

"And there's all the proof I need to let sleeping dogs lie, Victoria," he told his completely uninterested daughter who continued to suck on her toy.

_Yes_, he thought, placing a kiss to his daughter's forehead. He had been able to close the file on Mary and could move on in making the best of the life he had been given when she had saved him from death. He was sure she would be proud of the way her "Baker Street Boys" had moved on with their lives and found happiness. Mary would have approved of Kayla as well because she would have seen how the other woman loved Rosie as much as she had.

Indeed, as John had said, this year promised to be a good one for both of their families.

_Rest in peace, Mary, _he thought to himself, returning Victoria to a seated position on his lap and cuddling her to him, feeling very thankful for everything he had. _Rest in peace_.

* * *

**Author's note:** I found it interesting to discover the different types of baby food used in England and how they come in pouches rather than jars. Some of the food combinations do not sound very appetizing to me! How about you?

What did you think of the additional backstory for Sherlock's past that I provided - plausible or not so much?

So, things are resolved - for now. I feel that John would not actively pursue anything else to do with Mary, when you think about his response to her in the Christmas conversation. "The problems of your past are your business; the problems of your future on my privilege."

But... I am not discounting the possibility that Rosie might get curious about her birth mother when she is older. There's a possible story there, and perhaps I will write it if I'm still writing Sherlolly next year and the show doesn't return for season 5. Season 5 would mark the death knell for my time here.

So, what did you think about the conversation regarding the deerstalker? I've never cared for the hat, it covers Sherlock's lovely curls. Therefore, Molly is of the same opinion. So yeah, I wanted to get rid of it once and for all ;)

There are references in this chapter to two of my dream stories - _From Friends with Benefits to Endless Love_, and _Sherlock's Dream of What Might Have Been_.

The request from Greg for help with a case alludes to a real one from ACD canon.

Anyway, I hope to hear from you with your own reflections upon this story. Help keep my creative muse alive with your feedback!


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